


Wasted Time.

by The_Magic_Lava_Lamp



Series: Life is strange [1]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 22:20:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16049729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Magic_Lava_Lamp/pseuds/The_Magic_Lava_Lamp
Summary: Richie visits a place that he never thought he’d be. (Takes place after the 2nd fight with IT)





	1. Wasted Time.

“And so, you came here?” 

Richie looked up from his previous rushed speech, the man was sitting across from him with his glasses slipping down the slope of his nose and a pad of paper in his lap. He swallowed and nodded, figuring that question didn’t need a verbal answer. The air felt dusty and heavy, they were surrounded by shelves of books and it was seemingly as Richie had pictured it might be. 

The man hummed and took note of something, making Richie a little paranoid. He started to bounce his leg, which didn’t go unnoticed. ‘The man had eagle eyes or some shit’, Richie thought to himself. 

“Mr. Tozier, Richie, you don’t have to feel anxious. I know this can be intimidating.” He gestured around his office and Richie nodded. “But, I’m just here to listen and to help.” He explained. 

He was on the older side, which Richie wasn’t sure made it worse or better. 

“Now, seeking therapy seems like a big decision, what happened in your life that you felt this was appropriate?” He asked, waving his pen with a kind smile. Richie pulled at his collar. 

“Heh, well. You’ll have to forgive my personality, usually I have to be friends with someone for a while before they unlock my tragic backstory.” Richie chuckled awkwardly and the man, Brian, smiled. 

“Now, Richie, why would you ask me to forgive your personality? Is that something you feel you should be sorry for?” 

Richie blinked and shook his head, laughing. “Of course not.” He continued to laugh until it felt inappropriate. He cleared his throat again and shook his head one last time. “I’m sure others think that I should be though..” He laughed again but Brian only gave him an odd look.

“Why do you think that?” 

Richie pursed his lips, knowing he should’ve expected that question when he let that slip out as a joke. 

“Well, I just mean…” He looked a little lost. “Some people think I’m, I don’t know…rash? Is that the right word?” He absentmindedly wondered before continuing. “Too loud…annoying?” He shrugged. 

“Personally, I don’t get it…I think I’m pretty great.” He laughed. 

“So this isn’t something that bothers you? The opinions of these people, I mean.” Brian scooted in his seat and Richie rubbed his hand under his chin, suddenly very interested in taking his mind any where but here. 

“I didn’t say that….” He frowned and waved his hand in dismissal. “But it’s not a big deal.” He concluded. “I mean, that’s not what I came here for.” He nodded, peeking Brian’s interest. 

“And what would be the reason?” He asked, twirling his pen. 

“Well, Doc. I’m forty-two and still without a ‘forever companion’, if you will.” Richie smiled but really hated admitting this. He grimaced a little at himself. “I didn’t think i’d be the type of guy who’d care too much but…here I am.” He gestured with jazz hands. 

“And why do you think you’ve yet to make this companionship?” 

He was edging on the ridiculousness that Richie didn’t care to talk about. He tried to think of ways to stall but when he opened his mouth, it came out. “I feel like I’ve met ‘the one’ before but…well I really can’t remember.” 

Brian nodded, not looking as judgmental as Richie would have thought. “You don’t remember if they were ‘the one’ or you can’t remember the person-”

“The person.” Richie interrupted. “It’s like, he’s there-” Richie tapped his temple “But it’s like a fate outline…I don’t know.” He shrugged, looking towards the book shelves. “And before you ask, I’ve not seriously hurt my head and had amnesia.” He scowled at some memory Brian might ask about later. 

He clenched his hands around the leather couch wearily. Brian took down a few notes. “So, this guy…?” 

“He was ‘the one’, I know it.” Richie nodded. 

“Is there any possibility that you think you might be subconsciously making this man up, to keep yourself from finding a real companion?” Brian tread carefully, not wanting to insult him. 

Richie was defensive. “No. I don’t think that. Listen, I want to remember him and…I feel like I’ve just forgotten a whole chunk of my life, more specifically my childhood. And sometimes, it’s there but not fully. Like when you try and remember a dream.” Richie tried to explain. 

Brian nodded. 

“I think I was ok for a while but…something happened recently…and I feel off.” 

“What happened?” 

“Again, I can’t really remember but, the guy…” Richie cringed at himself, feeling stupid. “Well, it feels like he’s gone.” He shrugged. 

“And how do you feel about that?” 

Richie couldn’t think of a more overused question but he thought about it. “Awful. And I mean, how can you miss someone you don’t even really remember? That’s what pisses me off! I could have found someone and been married but…I couldn’t let myself because of this…ghost of a guy! What a waste of my damn time” Richie was frustrated. He slapped his hand to his face. 

“Richie, you don’t have to feel frustrated.” Brian smiled, an old man kind of smile. Richie felt comforted. “Maybe, maybe you did create this man…but maybe that’s important-” 

Richie looked confused. 

“-To help you find what you really want in a partner.” He smiled and Richie considered that. “Tell me what you remember.” 

“Well, he was…funny, and I think maybe he had like chronic migraines or…asthma? Maybe. I don’t know. But he was easy to get along with and kind.” He nodded and Brian grinned. 

“So, maybe that’s what your subconscious mind is telling you to look for in a companion.” Brian offered. Richie coked his head to the side. 

“So maybe this ‘man’ wasn’t a waste of time…but important and important to you.” Brian continued and Richie thought about it. 

“Huh.” Richie cocked his head to the side. “Maybe.” He nodded and they shared a look.


	2. The Strangest Things.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Companion piece to: Wasted Time . Brady Wells, a therapist, gets the chance to meet Stan and talk with him. (Takes place in between the 1st & 2nd fight with IT. )

Stan rolled his head back as the room speakers played some upbeat piano music. He took a cleansing breath and flicked his wrist back and forth, slowly but surely. It was a strain, his skin folded over the white wrapping and tightened under it. Uncomfortable and drowsy, he kept at it. Every breath he drew felt heavy in his chest but it was a feeling he was very accustomed too. He did not mind and wondered momentarily if he ever would again. 

He mumbled some song he vaguely remembered to keep himself busy. 

“Oh, goodbye, cruel world, I’m off to join the circus  
Gonna be a broken-hearted clown  
Paint my face with a good-for-nothin’ smile-”

“Mr. Uris?” 

The voice was old and husky, it was what Stan might picture the bourbon-based ‘Old Fashioned’ drink might sound like if it was a person. He supposed it was weird to think of it like that but he didn’t care. 

“Mr. Wells?” Stan smiled and stood, dusting himself off with a careful eye. Mr. Wells took note of it during the small interaction. 

“You can call me, Brady.” He grinned, holding out his hand to shake. Stan nodded and joined their grip, shaking firmly. It took no pro to notice the wrappings of white bandages around his left wrist. Brady felt a pang in his chest. 

He quickly directed Stan to their private place of meeting, a tame but tasteful neutral colored room. Stocked with comfort objects, books and framed art. Stan chuckled at the supply of boxes of tissues. Brady glanced up at the odd reaction. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just…all very obvious, isn’t it?” He gestured around, mostly at the tissues. “I’m sorry, it isn’t funny, I should know. But…you’re trying awfully hard.” He picked up a tissue box. 

Brady nodded. “We want our guests to feel-”

“Comforted, calm.” Stan interrupted with a nod.He slid the box back across the glass end table and instead of settling down on the couch, he paced around at the bookcase. Brady rubbed under his chin and pointed. 

“A reader, huh? I’ve got plenty. My daughter reads like the wind and gives me her favorites.” He chuckled and Stan looked delighted to hear it, his finger dragging across the spines. 

“My wife, Patty, she has tons at home.” He stopped with an uneasy expression on a small, thin brown book. 

“Your wife? How does she feel about you coming to therapy?” Brady asked casually and Stan smiled, pulling out the book and turning to his therapist. 

“Nothing but encouraging. Patty is…” He trailed off, slapping the book in his hand “A light in my life.” He smiled. 

Brady peeked at the book in his hands and had to let out a friendly laugh. “My daughter loved that as a child, ‘Birds Do The Strangest Things.’, think it’s from the sixties?” He crossed his arms and shrugged. 

“Yes, it is. I had it as a kid too.” Stan grinned as he flipped through the aged pages of the elementary school book. “Loved birds.” He laughed, giving into what Brady noted as a habit, rubbing at his bandaged wrist. 

“And that-?” Brady looked down with wise eyes at Stan’s injury. Stan followed his glance and laughed, almost unsettling Brady. 

“It’s not what you think. I stepped off a curb and clipped it on one of those bike messengers.” He wiggled his wrist for emphasis and finally sat down. Mr. Wells nodded, he believed Stan. 

“Walking into a therapists office with a bandage around your wrist draws a lot of sympathetic stares.” Stan rubbed at it again. “Shame.” He mumbled. 

“What’s a shame?” Brady asked as he too sat down, leaning forward. 

Stan shrugged. “When people feel they have to…” He frowned and looked at his bandaged wrist, not wanting to say the words, he lifted it and rubbed again. “As a last resort…you know what I mean?” 

“I do, Stan. You’re right. You never feel this way?” He asked and Stan frowned. 

“I’m not immune to mental health problems, as you can tell.” Stan gestured between them. “But…I’m the happiest I’ve been in a while. Job is going more than fine and Patty…” He trailed off with a loving grin that warmed Brady’s chest. 

“If you’re the happiest you’ve been, what’s brought you here? If you don’t mind me asking?” Brady picked up a pencil and twirled it in his hand. 

“I still have spells.” He shrugged, wiggling his finger. “I feel haunted sometimes. I get this unsettling feeling…like I’m terrified but I’m not sure of what?” Stan had this odd way of dealing with his issues, Brady noticed. Stan would chuckle or laugh. He wasn’t sure if it was his way of coping or his way of dismissing the issue as trivial. 

“And where do you think this is coming from? Repressed memory-?” 

Stan perked up at that, he noticed. “Repressed memory?” He repeated and Brady nodded. 

“Often times, the source of an issue can be traced back to a memory that one has blocked out to avoid dealing with or- well, what was your childhood like?” He asked and Stan blinked. 

“I think-good. It was good. Nice home, good parents…” He trailed off and Brady hummed. 

“You used the term ‘I think’, is there a reason for that?” 

Stan gave a blank look. “Well, I don’t truthfully remember too much about my childhood. Getting old, huh?” He laughed again and composed himself quickly. “Truthfully, it bothers me…but it almost feels like a relief at the same time.” 

Brady nodded, figuring he found the source to Stan’s problem. “So we could be looking at a Repressed childhood memory.” 

Stan nodded, welcoming the idea without much questioning. His fingers tapped out a beat which reminded Brady of a question he had. 

“And that song you were singing along when you came in-?” 

Stan laughed. “Oh, didn’t know anyone heard that. That was just some song I used to like a few months ago, heard it on one of those flashback stations….’Goodbye Cruel World’ by James Darren, I think.” He laughed

“That name makes me look pretty bad, huh?” He pulled at his collar. Brady gave him a warm smile and a tilt of his head. “I don’t know, something about it was funny to me. It’s a weird song.” 

Brady nodded. “It is. I remember it.” 

Stan smiled at him and they remained silent again for a few minutes. Brady took notice of Stan’s body language, it was much different than most of his guests. While they had looked nervous, Stan looked comfortable. But he did look hesitant and his eyes made him seem much older. They were dark and wide, small bags under them. 

His exterior read calm but he had his tell tale signs. He gripped at that Bird book with an odd amount of pressure.

“Tell you what, you can keep that.” Brady offered and Stan grinned. 

“Oh, Mr. Wells, that’s nice but-”

“No, no. You take it. It’s got no more use here.” He shook his head and Stan hugged it to his chest. 

Brady was determined to help Stan. The man was almost a riddle that he wanted to solve but more importantly, wanted to help.


End file.
